


Reminder

by SeverinadeStrango



Category: Sengoku Basara
Genre: Akechi Mitsuhide is His Own Warning, Extremely Suggestive Flirting, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Severina's March 2019 Requests, heavy innuendo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-02
Updated: 2019-04-02
Packaged: 2019-12-30 19:00:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18321305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeverinadeStrango/pseuds/SeverinadeStrango
Summary: Toshiie remembers, whether he wants to or not.





	Reminder

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nexu](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Nexu).



> This was written for Nexu as a request for the month of March 2019.

This had been a _bad_ idea and as always, Maeda Toshiie had realized far too late. He was trapped now, next to his somehow-oblivious wife, across from the man who was the very embodiment of chaos and disorder, with that scheming smirk with those dark lips with the knowing gaze that peered infuriatingly out from beneath a sheer curtain of hair. 

“You have done well for yourself, Lord Toshiie,” Mitsuhide purred from across the low table, his voice carrying even though he appeared to have barely spoken at all. “This is _quite_ the reception you have given me.” He hadn’t blinked, Toshiie realized, the entire time. Even when he looked down to lift his bowl he could still feel those eyes – he could feel Mitsuhide staring at him, scanning him over as if searching for any trace of what had once happened all those years ago. Of course, there was a chance that Mitsuhide had long since forgotten all of that, but was that truly likely?

Toshiie recalled the rumors that he’d heard about Oda Nobunaga and his right hand man and just _how_ close they were and how maniacal they both could be – a match made in heaven, so to speak, in the worst possible sense. 

“Thank you, Lord Akechi,” he replied woodenly, feeling himself twitch as Mitsuhide trailed the tip of his pointed tongue over one fingertip, “I assume you have been sent by him?”

“Oh, _not_ at all,” Mitsuhide purred, and Toshiie felt a shiver crawl down his spine for reasons unknown. Well. Not _entirely_ unknown – but that wasn’t something he wanted to delve into, not here and not now, with Matsu sitting just two feet to his right, as attentive as ever. As sly as Mitsuhide could be (and he knew _just_ how so), Toshiie doubted that even _he_ could evade Matsu’s eye, and that was a questioning session he would rather avoid. Just remembering what had gone on in their years past was humiliating enough, as was the way that his heartbeat automatically sped up when Mitsuhide gathered his silky, pale hair behind his neck. 

“Is everything all right?” Toshiie was torn between wanting to slap the man and wanting to do something _else_ entirely – Heavens, he was in trouble. Mitsuhide, of course, had no actual concern in his eyes – his words were exactly that, just words and nothing more. “You look rather pale.”

“Inuchiyo-sama is unwell?” Matsu’s head whipped around as she looked him over quickly – he admired her watchful eye, the compassion she had for him and for the people of Kaga, but this was the _worst_ possible time to be under scrutiny. He could only hold as still as possible and pray that nothing would prompt him to stand up. As understanding as his wife truly was, there were some things that he could not simply explain away, and the strange sense of unease that Mitsuhide gave him (as well as the history behind it) was one of them. Now in a mild state of panic Toshiie shook his head quickly, stammering out some half-formed sentence about how he was merely tired and worried about the people, about Keiji, about something of that nature, and although she gave him somewhat of a suspicious glance in return, there was no further questioning.

Thank goodness. He couldn’t even make sense of whatever _this_ was himself, let alone explain it to another person. Mitsuhide, for now, remained passively silent, but that calculated, cool stare promised absolutely nothing good.

“He speaks of you,” Mitsuhide said, obviously referring to Nobunaga himself, and Toshiie tensed. “He remembers everything, you know – the time that you were first introduced, especially.”

And the time that _we_ were.

That part, of course, remained unspoken, but the little snag of his darkened lip on those sharp teeth told all. With growing unease, Toshiie shifted, re-crossed his legs, and silently prayed for strength. There was, after all, the rest of the night to get through.


End file.
